


Profession

by Rheanna



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Comment Fic, Gen, Pre-Canon, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-20
Updated: 2010-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:30:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rheanna/pseuds/Rheanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>profession</b> <i>(noun)</i><br/>1. an occupation, esp. one that requires specialist academic and practical training<br/>2. a declaration of religious belief made upon entering a religious order</p>
            </blockquote>





	Profession

**Author's Note:**

> Commentfic for aj.

"So you're interested in the internship," Secretary Roslin says.

Billy nods. "Yes."

She glances down at the page in front of her. He can see his own name printed at the top. "University of Delphi, history and politics."

"Yes, Madam Secretary."

She raises her eyes and gazes at him, coolly appraising, over her glasses. "I see you were awarded laurels for your final presentation."

He shuffles on the spot. "Yes."

She lifts an eyebrow. "Do you say anything other than yes, Mr Keikeya?"

"Yes," Billy says, and immediately has to fight the overwhelming urge to clap his hands over his mouth. "I mean, no, yes, I do, Madam Secretary. I really want this position," he blurts. He can feel his face flushing hotly; he's five seconds into his interview and he's blown it already. Frak.

It takes five more seconds to register that Roslin isn't asking him to leave. Instead, she asks, "Why?"

Billy stares at her, not quite comprehending that she's actually giving him a chance to rescue this. "I, uh…?"

Roslin folds her hands on the desk in front of her. "As my intern, you will spend the next year of your life working unreasonable hours for virtually no reward. Your time will be spent making coffee, keeping my diary up to date and trailing around after me at endless official functions. Why do you want to do that, Mr Keikeya? Why do you want to do any of it?"

"Because it matters," Billy says. He had a entire speech prepared in response to exactly this question; he practiced it in front of the mirror in his dorm room. Now, every word of it flies out of his brain, and the only thing left to come out of his mouth is the unadulterated truth. "It _matters_," he repeats, spreading his hands wide. "Because government is the system we use to define ourselves. Get it right and we can be better."

"Get it wrong, and everything falls apart," Roslin says softly.

"Yes," Billy says without thinking. Then he panics. "I mean, I, uh, I would be in agreement with that statement."

"Relax, Mr Keikeya," Roslin says. She's smiling. "You've got the job."

"Thank you, Madam Secretary," Billy says sincerely.

She holds up a hand, silencing him. "You won't, later."


End file.
